Medicinal Purposes
by J9
Summary: Warrick and Sara share a drink, courtesy of Brass. (Warrick-Sara)


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Title: Medicinal Purposes

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Author: Jeanine (jeanine@iol.ie)

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Rating: PG

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Pairing: Sara/Warrick

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Feedback: Makes my day

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Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.

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Archive: At my site Checkmate () , Fanfiction.net; anywhere else, please ask.

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Notes: For the LiveJournal Writer's Choice "drink" challenge. 

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"Sit down." 

Brass's words are brusque, but his tone is almost gentle as he pulls out a chair for Sara, who obediently sinks down into it, an oddly vacant expression on her face. Warrick looks from her to Brass, his own face as worried as Brass's, because he's never seen Sara like this, ever. 

Of course, until a couple of hours ago, he'd never seen her with a gun held to her head either, her life only saved by the accurate shot of the man who is going around to the opposite side of his desk, yanking open his desk drawer ferociously. A bottle of Jack Daniels summarily appears on the table with a thump, two glasses following it, and Warrick raises an eyebrow at Brass, receives a shrug in response to his unspoken question. 

"Medicinal purposes only," Brass informs him, shooting a not-so-subtle glance at Sara before pouring two generous glasses. "Drink," he commands, handing one to Warrick, who quickly shakes his head. 

"I can't," he says promptly, though there's nothing he wants more. "The report-"

"I'll do the report," Brass counters. "And if you're worried about driving home, this'll hardly put you over the limit." 

Warrick shakes his head again. "We've got to get back to CSI," he objects. "We have evidence to process…" Even as he thinks the word, he sees bullets and bloodstains and the corpse of a man he wishes he could have killed himself, and his fingers itch with the urge to reach for the glass. 

Brass makes a disgusted sound, which Warrick, through years of long experience, translates as "Brown, you are one sorry excuse for an investigator." His translation is confirmed when Brass stands beside him, speaking in a tone so low only Warrick can hear him. "The only place you're going is hers," he says firmly, not a suggestion, an order, and Warrick blinks at both the words and what they imply. "Look at her… you think she needs to relive everything right now?" 

Warrick can't argue, and Brass nods once in affirmation. "Exactly." He pauses, hands Warrick one of the glasses. "Drink this. Make her drink it too. Then get out of here… I'll handle the paperwork." 

He claps one hand on Warrick's shoulder, then heads for the door, casting a final look at Sara, who's still staring into space. His frown deepens, and he looks back to Warrick pointedly. "Take care of her Rick." 

"Always," Warrick says simply, receiving the barest of grins from Brass before the door closes behind him. Warrick stares at it for a moment longer before turning to Sara, simultaneously raising his glass to his lips and downing the liquor in one gulp. The amber liquid sears its way down his throat, making his eyes water, but he welcomes it.

Returning his glass to the table, picking up Sara's, he turns to her, squats down in front of her chair. "Sara," he says, laying his hand on her knee, both for balance and to get her attention. "You need to drink this." 

She looks at him as if he's speaking very slowly, or from someplace far away. "What is it?" she asks after a few seconds, and he forces it into her hand, dodging the question. 

"It'll do you good… c'mon… down the hatch," he coaxes, remembering all the times that Grams said those words to him as a child, and when she takes the first swallow, she reacts as he did all those years ago, coughing and spluttering. 

"Jesus, Warrick…" 

She sounds more like herself in those few seconds than she has in hours, and Warrick can't keep back a smile. "A bit more… you need it…"

She narrows her eyes, but she does as she's told and they don't speak until the glass is empty. When he offers her more, she shakes her head, looks around her as if seeing their surroundings for the first time. "We're in Brass's office," she announces.

"He's off with paperwork," Warrick tells her, anticipating her question. "He left orders for me to get you to drink that, then bring you home." As he speaks, he places her glass on the table behind him, does it without turning, without taking his eyes off hers. His now-free hand then rests on her other knee, fingers tightening momentarily. 

A small smile comes to Sara's face, and she reaches out with one hand, touching his cheek. "You think he knows?" she whispers, and against all odds, Warrick chuckles. 

"I think the hug I gave you back there gave the game away," he admits, but he's not sorry for what he did, even if he did blow their long held secret out of the water. He sighs, reaching up to mimic her touch, moving his hand past her cheek, to tangle in her hair. "God Sara…" 

Words fail him at that point, but she must know what he means, because tears brim in her eyes. "I know…" She tilts her head into his palm, closes her eyes, one tear tracing a path down her cheek. "I was so scared," she chokes out, and that does it for him, has him reaching for her, just like he did at the crime scene, pulling her into his arms. 

Just like at the crime scene, she goes willingly, holds onto him fiercely, until, that is, he pulls away from her, captures her lips with his in a desperate kiss. He can taste the whiskey on her tongue, and he absolutely knows that they should not be doing this here, but he doesn't care. 

He needs this, even more than he needed the alcohol. 

When they separate, his hands smooth back her hair, and they share a smile when they realise that they've somehow tumbled to the floor, are sitting wrapped up in one another. "C'mon," Warrick says quietly. "Let's get you home."

Hand in hand, they make their way into the morning light, leaving the two glasses side by side on the table behind them. 


End file.
